Blessings
by Vema
Summary: Ser Otto/F!Mage; a strange little fic, but the bunny just keeps nibbling.  Romance, possible spoilers, and AU.  Rated T for now.  Thanks for reading and reviewing!  :D  NOTE - PLEASE REVIEW AUTHORS NOTE IN CHAPTER EIGHT.
1. Chapter 1

**Blessings**

by: Vema

Chapter One

_Note: POSSIBLE SPOILERS AHEAD. I know how the Ser Otto quest ends – I'm taking liberties. :) He's too great a character to give up. _

Pain was something Ser Otto was well acquainted with. The pain of training to be a Templar, the pain of resisting temptation. There was the pain of the fire, of learning to live a sightless existence. Of being sent on pointless missions, because Greagoir couldn't bring himself to tell the blind Templar that he could no longer be of use.

None of this compared to the pain of feeling his body being ripped open by the demon's pitchfork. The searing agony of the points catching on his organs and rending them open robbed him of conscious thought. All he knew was blistering anguish, and then the complete darkness of death.

He didn't realize until he felt consciousness inside him that he hadn't expected to awaken ever again. In the few agonizing seconds of the attack, he had made peace with his life, and given it up. The hot, wrong feeling of the orphanage was gone, and in it's place was contentment. Cool night air rushed over him, and the dampness of the soil was underneath his head. They had done it, he thought. The Grey Warden had slain the demon and brought the peace of the Maker back to the orphanage.

Quiet voices approached him, the Warden and her female companion, the one who had been a sister at the Chantry. He opened his useless eyes and tried to speak, but nothing came out.

"He's awake," said the melodic voice of the sister.

The snapped of the grass near his ear told him someone was kneeling near him. "Ser Otto," said the rougher, lower voice of the Warden. Bronwyn, the Warden, was not a delicate woman. He could not see her, but knew from her demeanor that she was battle hardened, and that she was stubborn, but there was an underlying kindness there. She would always do the right thing, he was sure of that, and Maker help those who got in her way. Her cool hand touched his forehead, and he felt healing magic coursing through his veins. _Ah..._ he thought.

She had saved him.

His voice was as metal scraping on stone, raspy and hard. "The demon...slain?"

"Yes, Ser. Alistair is inside now, doing what more he can to cleanse the building of the horrors inside." Her voice turned grim. "Unfortunately, the elves will have to do the majority of that. It will take more that one day, I'm afraid."

"Thank you, my friend." His voice was still raspy, but he hoped some of the gratitude he felt came through.

She snorted. "Like I had a choice."

He groped for her hand beside him, and squeezed tightly. "Every day we are presented with the same basic choice, my child. To serve others in the Maker's name, or to serve only ourselves." Strength was returning to him, and he leaned up on his elbow, turning to face where her voice had come from. "Serving others is our highest calling, and you have done it today."

There was a pause, then her reply, short and tight. "The Wardens exist to serve the people."

"Some would not consider elves under that tenant. It is commendable that you do."

He was puzzled by her silence, the uncomfortable shuffle of her knees against the ground. "In the Circle... But you must know, Ser. There are no such distinctions. I do not remember a time I did _not_ live within the Circle tower, with humans and elves in harmony and equality."

"One of the many points of Tower life that are beneficial, my dear."

"Are you able to stand?" she asked, her voice softer.

"Yes." He did stand, feeling a bit tired but it was nothing a few days rest wouldn't heal. "Now that my task is completed, I must return to report the demon's presence and defeat to Greagoir."

"Of course. Do you need passage with a merchant train or...?"

"No, I will find passage with some other returning Templars. I hope to see you again, Warden. Let me know if I may be of any assistance."

"Of course, Ser."

He bowed and walked away, his heart turning to lead. He couldn't fathom why he was so disappointed to walk away from her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Blessings**

by: Vema

_Authors Notes: I very much appreciate that I'm being added to people's alerts! Thanks so much! I'd also love some feedback, so if you're enjoying the story, if you have some constructive criticism, I'd love to hear it! :) Thank you._

Chapter Two

He could sense the tower looming over them as the caravan of Templars neared Lake Calenhad. The loss of his vision had not only left him with the uncanny ability to sense evil, but also magic. Even a half a day's ride away, he could feel the air beginning to sizzle, and by the time they approached the dock, his senses were filled with the crackling of concentrated enchantment. So many mages, in such a small area, casted magics almost constantly – this was the only explanation for the sensation around him now.

Ser Otto took a deep breath as he stepped down from the carriage, the soles of his boots knocking against the wood of the dock. _Home_, he thought joyfully. The sounds and smells of the lake conjured in his minds eye the silhouette of the tower against the blue sky and white clouds, a beacon to him. A sign that the Maker was watching over them all.

And yet...it seemed off. A dark tint to the magic around him. Something had gone wrong.

"Do you require assistance into the boat, Ser?"

The voice came from his left. A young man, he though. Inexperienced, but well meaning. "No, but thank you."

The boy still hovered as he climbed into the boat, and it made the older Templar smile. As the boat began to move across the still water, he heard the seat next to him creak slightly, and felt someone leaning near to him.

"Maker watch over you, my child."

"And you."

He felt his apprehension growing as they neared his old home.

_._

_._

_._

"Ah, Otto!" cried Greagoir as he entered. "It's good to see you, old friend."

"And you, Knight Commander."

"Leave us," Greagoir directed to the Templars that had accompanied his friend. "Please sit. Now, Otto, I have reviewed your report of the event, and I had some questions for you."

He nodded. "Of course."

"This demon – it was responsible for the destruction of the orphanage?"

"I believe so, Commander. The souls of the children were trapped by this demon. There was no maleficar remaining, if there was one to begin with."

There was a pause, and he heard the shuffling of papers. "And the Grey Wardens helped you with this?"

"Yes, Bronwyn and Alistair, and some others who are helping them with their quest to stop the blight. A noble cause. A remarkable woman."

"Indeed. As you have no doubt deduced, we are still recovering from an infiltration of blood mages here. The Wardens assisted us here as well."

"I have heard some talking. So many lost – mages and Templars." He had never thought to come back to this. He took a moment before his next comment, wondering how to word it. "I ...did not see Wynne with the Warden."

Greagoir took a deep breath. "I'm sure she is fine. We would know, if she was injured or... anything else had happened. Bronwyn was a mage, she came from here. She would send word."

Otto nodded. It was not common knowledge, but Greagoir was close Wynne, something they kept hidden from all others. As one of Greagoir's closest friends, he had been trusted with this. Their relationship had been going on for over three decades.

"I spoke with her before she left. I asked her ...not to go, but...you know how she is." He rubbed his face. "I know she feels this is her purpose, but I cannot bear this. Ostagar was -"

"Commander, I know." He thought he heard someone shifting closer to the door outside, perhaps an overly curious guard. "Every mage is needed at this time, to rebuild the circle."

"Yes." He took a deep breath. "And all Templars as well. Could I behoove you to stay behind, help us identify the worst of the evil, I would be grateful."

"You are my commander. I will do as you ask."

"Thank you, Otto." He was quiet again for a moment. "And...and improvement?"

Ser Otto sighed. "No, no improvement. There will be none, Greagoir. You know this."

"I am sorry, my friend."

"I am not. The Maker gives us each what we need in this life. He has given me sight for the time I needed it, and now he has shown me how to be grateful for life." He stood and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "It was not your fault."

When he was greeted with silence, Otto walked out, asking the Maker to give his friend the same peace that had been bestowed to him.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

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_Authors Note: For those of you who missed the note in my Planet 51 story, I had some computer trouble and lost all the work I had done on this story. I needed to take a break and regroup, so I've been working on some other things, but now I'm ready to go again! How you enjoy, and please remember to review – it's what we authors live for._

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The cleaning and repair of the Tower went very smoothly now that Ser Otto was helping the remaining Templars and mages. He was easily able to identify that dark nooks and cranny's that still contained the small demons, and they were able to quickly eliminate them. One particular darkness bothered him as he traced it, moving around the tower from place to place. It was following them, but not the mages, he was shocked to realize. It followed the Templars. He resolved to scent it out, wherever it may be.

He pretended not to hear the whispers around him. They wondered at how he could sense the evil, how he new it was there. A few cruel voices wondered how he could still be a Templar, when he couldn't even see. He asked Andraste for her grace, to allow him to accept them for who they were as he accepted himself. The were all children of the Maker, and the Maker would bestow challenges as he saw fit.

And was he any better?

At night, he thought of nothing but Bronwyn. Her demeanor, the sound of her voice, the feel of her small hands on his, it could not leave him. Maker help him, he even fixated on her smell, inhaling deeply and remembering the aura around her. Pure and good, if tinged with a bit of darkness. That smell, it made him uncomfortably warm and needy.

It felt like a betrayal of his vows, the way she held in his mind, and the darkness seemed to consume him.

Challenges. Sometimes, it seemed that was all the Maker had in store for him. In the darkness, he prayed for the strength to resist her. He had heard stories of her bravery, her goodness. Saving the mages, the Arl of Redcliffe. Bringing peace to the Dwarves in Orzammar. Even the Dalish had her to thank for freeing their warriors from a terrible affliction. It was because of this that he loved her, and because of this that he would never be good enough for her.

And why should it matter, when he had given his vows to the Maker? He could never be with her, even if she would have him.

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"You're sure of this?"

Otto nodded. "I would never have brought this to you, if I wasn't sure."

"A demon?"

"Not in the sense you mean it." He lowered his voice, sadness coloring the timbre. "The boy will never fully recover from his time in that cage. He was tortured, Greagoir. More than we've been told, I think. The pain of it, and his mistrust and blame of innocents, will only grow here."

"The Warden said he was the only one who survived. A strong soul. I had hoped..."

Otto pushed thoughts of Bronwyn out of hismind. "He will lash out against the remaining mages, I'm sure of it. The question is when."

Greagoir sighed. "We should send him away, to the country, once the Blight is over. With no mages about to anger him, he will begin to heal."

"Yes. Perhaps. For now, I would recommend keeping him isolated and away from any mages. The sense that he is losing control is strongest around them."

"Thank you for bringing this to me, Otto. I'll take action on the morrow. For now, it is time for the evening meal. Come, accompany me to the meal hall. You need rest as much as any of us, dear friend."

"Of course."

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After dinner, he found himself wandering the corridors. This floor was cleared, he was sure of it. But he followed the voice that told him to keep going, to search. It lead him to the apprentice dormitory, where he heard raised voices.

"No, Ser, no" came a young woman's voice, raised in fright, "I wasn't- I didn't- It's for protection only, not-" She shrieked and Otto heard the sound of flesh striking flesh. He ran forward.

"Mages don't need knives for protection!" It was Cullen, his voice harsh and accusatory. "This is for use in your magic! You're a blood mage!"

"I'm not, I-"

"Stop lying, you bitch!"

He entered the room, hearing the Templar strike her again. She fell to the floor with a thud. "Ser Cullen!" he shouted, "Control yourself!"

"But this maleficar was-"

"She is not a maleficar, Cullen," he said, helping the apprentice to her feet. He interposed himself between the child and his angry colleague. "She is a scared little girl, and you are the source of her terror."

"But, Ser, the knife-"

"Let me see."

He held out his hand and the cool handle was placed there. Feeling along the length, he tried to sense anything dark about the weapon, but found only positive energy. It was a hunting knife, with a rough hewn stag-horn handle.

With a start, he realized who the apprentice was. Almost a decade ago, right before he had lost his eyesight, he'd been sent to a little village just outside the Brecilian forest to collect a small girl who had shown signs. It had been a tearful goodbye, her parents reluctant to release the tiny, dark haired one into the Templar's custody. He had applauded the love he saw there, though he knew they must be parted for her own good.

"This was a gift from her father," he said quietly, holding the blade with reverence. "A tool he hand made himself, given to her so she could remember how much she was loved. Here, Samira."

"T-thank you, Ser," she stuttered, weeping quietly. The sound echoed in the empty room.

Cullen cleared his throat. "I'm...sorry. I didn't know." He sounded ashamed and horrified.

"Come, young one, go find your mentor. No one will question your knife again."

She uttered another quiet thanks, and then fled the room, her quick footsteps ringing around him. He turned in the direction he believed his brother in arms was. "Ser Cullen, you need to speak with Greagoir."

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he said miserably. "I was so sure she was an abomination... I..."

"You need time to heal," Otto said quietly. "You've been through much, and had little time to process it. We'll speak to Greagoir. He'll know what to do."

"What if I had-" He cut himself off, unable to finish.

Otto was touched by the remorse he heard. Here was a good man, corrupted by an evil spirit. He must be helped to reclaim his compassion, his wisdom, his mercy. "Come." He took Cullen's arm and lead him to the Knight Commander's office.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

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_Note: Wow, thanks for the reviews! I have to agree, I love Ser Otto, he seems like a lovely person, and I was just so angry that he died. , It also upset me that there was no happy ending for Cullen. Either he became a horrible dictator, or a murderer, and I thought he was so wonderful. Anyway, here's the next installment. _

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There was nothing for him to do but stalk around the Tower, waiting for word on the destruction of the Blight. It seemed silly, pointless for Greagoir to deny him...

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_ "I will be going to Redcliffe, Greagoir." He put as much conviction into his voice as possible. It was the only time he could remember challenging the Knight Commander, but he couldn't believe what he was hearing._

_ He heard Greagoir sigh. "I cannot, in good faith, send you to the battle. I would not have sent you to the alienage, had I known what you were facing, and by your own word it was almost the end of you. You have too much to offer the world for me to end your life needlessly. The mages will be assisting, as I have said, with a small Templar escort."_

_ "Which I will - "_

_ "No, my friend."_

_ The finality of that pronouncement hit him like a blow to his gut. "Greagoir..."_

_ "You...have been a good knight, Otto. I have... I have put this day off for a long time. There have been many reasons, not the least of which was...personal guilt."_

_ Even with the horrible feeling that was coming over him, Otto felt compelled to refute this claim. "No, my brother. You were not at fault."_

_ "That flame was meant for me," came the anguished reply._

_ "And I chose to save you. It was my choice."_

_ "A choice that will cost you your knighthood this day," he said sadly. "You cannot function as a Templar anymore."_

_._

He wondered what Greagoir had seen on his face after that pronouncement. His heart was gone now, he knew it from the empty feeling in his chest. He further knew that he wouldn't be sent out of the tower, though he would no longer wear the armor of the Templars. His soft, white robe brushed the floors of the hall as he paced.

One nice thing about the Tower was how much space there was to roam, to think. He looked through the doors to an empty apprentice dormitory, thinking of all the people that were dying to save the country, the world, knowing he should be with them.

As he was walking towards a set of stairs, he heard two Templars speaking. "The darkspawn are headed to Denerim?" one said, shocked.

"Yes, apparently they thought the horde was moving towards Redcliffe, but the archdemon was sighted leading the horde to Denerim."

Otto sped up, coming to the men and saying, "What's that? The horde is going to Denerim?"

"Ser Otto! We didn't see you there." It was a kindness, still calling him that. "Yes, the darkspawn have surely reached the capital by now, and the army that had gathered in Redcliffe is right behind them."

Sorrow and horror filled him. "All those people..."

"Maker be with them," said the other Templar, who's voice was a bit huskier with grief.

Otto nodded and turned away, walking slowly now. The darkspawn could not have done this on purpose – even with the archdemon leading them, they wouldn't be able to form a strategy such as this. He felt a kind of blankness come over him – shock, he supposed.

He didn't realize where he was headed until he arrived – the Chantry. It was strangely empty, save for one or two initiates he could hear scurrying about, and someone whose presence he recognized immediately. Several days of counseling, starting even before his discussion with the Knight Commander, made him as recognizable as any of his closest friends. He settled into a meditation pose next to him, trying not to disturb the younger man.

"Ser Otto," Cullen acknowledged quietly.

The sat together in prayer for a time, silent but for the sounds of their breathing. After a bit, Cullen spoke again, his voice sounding loud in the quiet all. "Is it true?"

"It must be."

"When I heard, I came here to pray for...for all the souls that will be joining our Maker today," Cullen whispered. "I've become a fixture here, I'm afraid. I feel more at peace at this altar than anywhere. And what more can I do, but beseech the Maker to help them?"

It was strange to hear his own thoughts reflected so perfectly by the troubled youth, but he found his shoulder and squeezed it. "We all do what we can, and what we can do is hold a vigil. Stay with me tonight, we will light candles and pray for the safety of as many of the innocents as possible."

"Yes."

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They sat long into the night and through the next day. Otto's knees began to tire, but he knew his discomfort was as nothing to the pain others were suffering even now. The citizens of Denerim, the army, the Grey Wardens, no one was outside his thoughts. But try as he might to concentrate on prayers for everyone, he couldn't help praying more and more for Bronwyn. _Someone so good, so kind, cannot die so soon_, he beseeched, _She still has so much of your good work to do. Give her the strength to go on. Take my life if you need one, but let her live._

Cullen lit new candles whenever they burned out, and slowly he lost track of time. Some of the sisters came to sit with them, and over the next day the number of people grew. Mages and Templars and initiates together, all praying, some silently, some in whispers. They would switch out to rest, Cullen and Otto the only two who did not leave, but it was to be expected. There had to be Templars to guard the tower, and the mage children needed their lessons. The two wordlessly continued, with no need to agree to stay; it was their duty.

Almost everyone was gathered around the altar when a messenger came with word from Denerim, nearly three days later. Cheers went up as they heard that the archdemon had been defeated and the darkspawn were retreating below ground.

Otto continued to pray until he heard that Bronwyn was alive and organizing the effort to drive off the remaining demons. Then he collapsed and all went dark.

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He awoke with no idea of what time it was or how long he'd been asleep. He felt someone near him, and reached out a hand.

"Otto," said a familiar, kindly voice. Wynne grabbed his searching hand and held it firmly. "Thank the Maker."

"Wynne," he whispered, his voice croaking from lack of use. "You're here. You made it."

"Yes. But you nearly didn't," she scolded. "And Cullen, too. What you two did was well meaning, but you must take better care of yourselves."

"He's ...all right?"

She sighed. "Yes. He only slept for a week. You have been out for nearly three."

Three weeks? He moved his tongue around in his cottony mouth. "Water, please."

"Of course." She help him to lean up and held a cup to his mouth. He started to drink greedily, but Wynne cautioned him to sip lest he throw it back up.

He laid back down, exhausted from even that much movement. This would not do, he couldn't be blind and an invalid. He resolved to regain his strength as quickly as possible. "Bronwyn...?"

There was a small pause as Wynne weighed her words. "She's here. She's...suffered a terrible loss, I'm afraid. You met Alistair in the alienage, yes?"

"Of course. A good man, if a trifle irreverent. ...You don't mean...?"

"He is gone." She briefly explained that in order to slay the archdemon, a Grey Warden must be sacrificed. "Bronwyn would have done it herself, but he didn't give her the choice."

Otto felt his mind reeling. "But he was king, wasn't he?"

"He was. He left Anora the throne if he were to perish. He was also Bronwyn's lover." She added the last quietly, watching the door to see if it were opening. "She has come here to help rebuild the tower, but also to give her a buffer between herself and the outside world. The Grey Wardens what her to come to Weisshaupt, but she isn't ready. She may never be."

"No, of course not." He hadn't realized she had been the King's mistress. Alistair's loss saddened him more than he could voice, and he felt sympathy for the poor girl's plight. He was also disgusted with himself for being so overjoyed that he would get to see her soon.

"She's been looking in on you, too. She'll want to know how you are."

Otto held up his hand. "Give me a few moments please."

"Do you need anything?"

"Some fresh clothes and a bath might be in order, before I see anyone else," he said, chuckling.

"I'll have someone help you with the bath. You're muscles aren't working properly yet, and it'd be a shame for you to drown so soon after awakening," she joked.

He smiled and sat up fully, feeling more like himself. And he couldn't wait to see the Grey Warden.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

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_Authors Note: Thanks for all the reviews! I love hearing what everyone thinks, and I'm humbled to see that so many are reading this. :) Enjoy this chapter and more coming very soon._

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Otto felt refreshed from the bath, if a bit weak. His skin smelled of fresh soap and incense from the meditation he had done immediately following the bath, and he felt happy and peaceful. He had just pulled on his white robe when there was a knock on his door. "Come," he said.

As soon as the door opened, he knew it was her. That intoxicating presence filled the air, overpowering the lingering incense smoke. He turned and bowed. "Welcome, Grey Warden," he said formally.

"Why is it that every time I see you, you're unconscious?" she asked, laughing a little.

"I don't plan to lose consciousness any time soon, my dear," he said. He held out his hand, and she took it. He cupped her tiny hand in his large ones. She was cold, he thought, with lingering sadness about her. "I hear you have suffered a loss."

She was quiet for a moment, squeezing his hand. "I can't talk about it yet."

"I am here when you are ready," he said simply. "In the meantime, I was going for a walk. Would you like to join me?"

His heart leapt as she twined her arm around his. "That's why I'm here. Lead on, Ser Knight."

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It was good to feel the sun on his face. They walked the small paths around the tower, speaking of everything and nothing. As she spoke, very matter-of-factly he thought, he was reminded of her forthrightness on the day they had met.

_"What happened to your eyes?"_

It was that forthrightness that had caught his attention, he thought. She spoke her mind, and spoke the truth more often than not, just as she was doing now when she cataloged all the changes, negative or positive, to the once pristine tower. A fire blast here, and scar on the earth where grass wouldn't grow again there. When the smell of roses and honeysuckle met his nostrils, he knew they had entered the garden. "Come, sit with me on this bench a while," he said, leading her.

"How do you know...?"

"I was not always blind," he explained, sitting on the stool. "Last I saw this garden, over a decade ago, there were red roses before us, and in the beds to the side where daisies and lavender, with moonflowers at night. Behind was a large peach tree, which I imagine is still there."

She laughed, her low voice causing flutters in his stomach. "There is still, the tree, the roses, all of it. When I asked Owain why they didn't change it, he said he and his brothers preferred to keep things always as they were."

"Simpler for me, anyway."

They laughed easily, then listened to the sound of birds singing, the fish splashing in the nearby lake. After a few moments, Bronwyn cleared her throat. "Ser...may I ask you something?"

"Of course, my child, any time."

"I feel like...I know you of old. But, I have never seen you at the tower before."

This was more of a statement than a question. "No?" The ex-Templar considered it. Now that he thought of it, it seemed he should have met her before, in the Tower. She was raised there no doubt, like all the others, and yet he couldn't summon a single memory of her before Greagoir had complained of the incident with Jowan. The First Enchanter had claimed she was helping him to reveal the treachery, and Greagoir was not inclined to believe him. Otto did not know the girl, but felt she must have been innocent; the First Enchanter wouldn't lie.

Of course, he didn't know every single apprentice, or even every senior enchanter, by name, so it was no cause for concern. "I suppose I do not remember you either, but that is not so strange, is it? Many Templars live here, many mages. Many much younger, more interesting men than myself," he joked lightly.

"Oh, I don't know." He heard a sly smile her voice. You're probably the most interesting man I've met in a while, and attractive too."

There was a stunned pause. "You think I'm..."

Bronwyn gasped and jumped up, releasing his arm. "Oh, I'm...I can't...I'm so sorry. I have to go."

He stood as well, reaching his hand toward her retreating footsteps. "No, wait," he called. He started to follow, but gave it up just as quickly. He may know these paths, but not well enough to catch her if she was running at full tilt.

Instead he walked back to the bench, stubbing his toe as he did so, which was not like him. He sat heavily on the stone, letting a hand fall to gently stroke the petals of a daisy nearby. She thought he was attractive? He started to berate himself for the feelings that were awakening in him when it suddenly hit him that he was no longer bound by his Templar vows.

He tried to hold his excitement in check. There were many obstacles still in his way; for one, she was a Grey Warden and who knew how long she would stay here? He couldn't very well follow her there, he would be just as effective a Grey Warden as he was a Templar. And her age, of course, was uncertain. He estimated, by the quality of her voice, that she was nearing thirty, but he knew these things could be misleading. What if she wasn't interested in a blind ex-Templar nearing his fiftieth year? And, most immediate and damning, was the loss of her lover, Alistair. It had only been three weeks, and no matter how short a time they were together, those sorts of wounds took time to heal. He would need to be patient.

But she thought he was attractive, and that was a good start.

He held on to that thought all through the twilight, feeling the night cool in the garden, knowing when the moonflowers bloomed around him from the smell of their perfume. Standing, he slowly made his way back to the tower, hoping for a late dinner if the tranquil cooks would take pity on him.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

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It was several days before he found her again. Most of his brethrens time was now being spent actually scrubbing the stains out of the walls and floor. Removing the demons had not removed the horrifying, fleshy growths or blood trails, unfortunately. He was not very adept at this, and so spent most of his time in the library or in the Chantry, reciting the Chant of Light and giving Bronwyn her space.

When he wasn't doing this, he was spending quality time with Cullen. Some of their former brothers seemed unable to speak with him, as though associating with him would suddenly remind them of their own suffered horrors.

Cullen, on the other hand, seemed to be confronting them head on and finally making progress. Greagoir told Otto that he had arranged for the boy to spend some time with a group of affirmed Sisters and Monks to the north, in a Chantry built on a cliff overlooking the Waking Sea, and he would be leaving within the next day. It was isolated, and peaceful, and there it was hoped he could heal and some day come back to the Templars.

It seemed to Otto, however, that he never did want to return. Something in the way he sounded whenever they spoke of it made him seem put out, angry that they were expecting it. And it was when he heard Bronwyn and Cullen talking in a room off the hall that he finally realized part of the reason why.

He paid no attention to the voices until he recognized Cullen's voice, and stood in shock at what the was hearing.

"But you don't understand what I'm saying. I'm no longer to be a Templar, Bronwyn," he was insisted, his voice earnest. "They want me to come back when I'm ready, but I'm not sure I ever will be again. We can be...I mean..."

"Cullen." Her voice was forced, aching. "There is no going back. That time of our lives... that's over. When I flirted with you, I was a foolish little girl, and you were... different too."

Otto couldn't believe what he was hearing. The woman he thought he might be in love with and the man he was counseling had...a history? Not only that, but Cullen was little more than a boy at the age of twenty two; it sounded like Bronwyn was saying she was younger still. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, eavesdropping on more of their conversation.

"I can be that way again, dearest," Cullen said, dropping to his knees. The sound of a hand stroking skin echoed in Otto's mind. "Give me time. Come with me."

"It's not that. I... I can't be with you. We've both been through so much. And there...well, there are many reasons it couldn't work." She sighed, and Otto had a mental image of her taking her hand away. "I'm sorry, but no."

Otto quickly turned into a room nearby, and shortly heard Cullen storming down the hallway, striding quickly to the area where the Templars lived. He felt guilty for listening, but now... He made his way to the room where the argument had taken place with measured steps, hearing quiet sobs from inside, and felt he must do something. He entered the room quietly, realizing it must be her private quarters. "My dear lady, is there anything I can do?" he whispered.

"Oh," she said, sniffling. "I suppose you...heard all of that, did you?"

He cringed. "Mostly. I didn't mean-"

"It's all right. He should never have said anything." She seemed to try to stifle her sobs, but to no avail. "We were children, before the Blight changed us. Part of me still loves him, but it's only the part that yearns to be that innocent maiden again, ignorant of the ways of war and darkspawn."

He would have sat, but he couldn't find a polite way to interrupt and ask where a chair was. So he stood and listened, only a few inches from her though he knew she was miles away.

When she spoke again, her voice trembled with shock and horror. "Did you know that they steal Dwarven women, twist them into monsters to birth more of their kind?" she asked. "That if there is no food, they'll turn and eat each other? The things I saw... that I still see in my dreams... I haven't let myself feel it yet. There are no words for what I witnessed, what I'm still witnessing."

Otto knelt and put his hands on her shoulders. "You've been through a great deal."

"It's made me a bad person."

"No."

"Yes." She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I still grieve for Alistair, but sometimes, I think it's better that he's gone. What kind of horrible person thinks that?" she sobbed, becoming hysterical.

He pulled her to him, stroking her back. "The human kind," he said. "It would have been hard on you if he had survived to become king and married, and part of you recognizes that and is relieved. That doesn't mean you wished him dead."

It was several moments before she had herself under control again, but finally she quieted. "Oh, Ser... look at your shift. I've ruined it," she said, picking at the wet cloth over his shoulder.

"I can think of no better use for it." He took her hands in his. "Our Maker sent you for a reason, dear child. You have suffered so in the name of others. Find peace in knowing that because of you, hundreds of thousands across the world can sleep tonight without having to worry about the darkspawn or the Archdemon."

"But Alistair was the one-"

"You both gave. Perhaps the ultimate sacrifice isn't giving up your life; it's allowing someone you love to give theirs instead."

They were silent for a moment, and he felt her forehead against his. When had he gotten that close? When had she? "Thank you," she sighed, her breath sweet in his face.

He moved back quickly before he could be tempted. "I'm going to find someone and ask for food to be brought to you, so you have time to think."

"Will you come back and take your meal here with me?" she pleaded.

He smiled. "Certainly, though I have to warn you, people will talk."

She laughed, and he took his leave.

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About an hour later, they were sitting at her desk together drinking small amounts of wine. Two plates with left over bits of venison and bread were nearby. Bronwyn had suggested a game of chess, and watched intently as Otto felt out the different pieces on his sixth move. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking when I..." she began, beginning to feel foolish for suggesting a game so based on visuals.

"You should be." He quickly moved a bishop forward. "Checkmate."

"Excuse me?" He heard her lean forward to examine the board. "Well, I- I want a rematch."

With a laugh, he pushed the board away. "Perhaps another time, my dear. It's getting late, and if I don't leave soon, there really will be talk amongst the Templars and mages alike."

"At least finish your wine," she said, pushing his glass into his hand. "Tell me, what will you do now that you're no longer a Templar?"

The abrupt turn of conversation almost caused him to drop his wine. "I suppose I haven't given it much thought. Greagoir had just told me of his decision when you were headed to Redcliffe, and then...well..."

"Irving has asked me to be his assistant, which I rather think means I'll be in line for his position someday," she said matter-of-factly. "I've been putting some thought to ways that we can update the procedures that are in place right now. He mentioned...you can sense magic as well as evil. Is this true?"

Otto was at a loss for words. "Yes, of course. But I don't see how-"

"It's always good to know what our strengths are," she said thoughtfully. "Are you going to stay at the Tower for now?"

"Yes. I have no where else to go." And as he said it, he realized it was true. The Chantry and the Tower had been his home for so long, over three decades. He had a nephew in Denerim that he could go to, but how could he just leave all this behind?

"Good. I shouldn't like for you to leave." Her voice was soft. "I will speak to Irving on your behalf. We'll think of something."

Otto sat down his glass, feeling overwhelmed. "I really should retire, my lady. I have much to consider."

Her footsteps trailed behind him to the door. "Just one more question, Ser. You said before, in Denerim, that one of the benefits of being raised in the Tower was the elves and humans were considered equal."

"What? I suppose I did."

Bronwyn touched his arm. "Did you mean it?"

"Of course." He felt his eyebrows drawing together. "Why?"

And for the first time since he had met her, she didn't give him a direct answer. "Never mind right now. Have a good night, Ser," she said. He felt a light kiss on his cheek. "And thank you again."

Though his mind was reeling, his heart felt considerably lighter as he returned to his room.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

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The library was where Otto spent most of his time now, some of the mages using their magic to create tomes in braille for him. He felt old, useless amongst all the mages and Templars, and he would have felt alone, too. Luckily, Bronwyn was spending more and more time with him. It seemed to him that the Hero of Ferelden was seeking him out, and he was elated. Sometimes, when they were walking, he would take her arm. And several times, when he escorted her to her rooms at night, she would reward him with a little kiss on the cheek. But this was the only physical contact they had, and Otto didn't want to move too quickly when she was in such a delicate state. He sometimes felt a twinge of jealousy, but he prayed to the Maker to remove it, for the boy who had saved them all from the archdemon certainly deserved better than bitterness from him.

He had just started a tome that revealed the tale of Dirthamen when he sensed her approach. "Good morning," he said, closing the book. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"It is all mine, good Ser," she laughed. "Come, the First Enchanter wishes a word with you."

His stomach dropped. "Does he?" he asked nervously.

"Don't worry so much. It's good news," she said, grabbing his hands and pulling him up. "I'll be with you. Come."

He relinquished only one hand and let her walk with him to the First Enchanter's office. When they arrived, she opened the door without knocking, which struck him as a bit familiar, but Irving did not seem nonplussed. "Ah, Otto, it's good to see you."

"And you, First Enchanter."

"Anyone who is on a first name basis with the Knight Commander should be with me, as well," he insisted. "Call me Irving."

"As you wish."

"Still so formal. I suppose that is for the best, because Bronwyn has told me of your abilities, and I have decided to contract you from Greagoir."

"Contract me? For what purpose?"

"Something most important... Tell me, how many times did you go out to retrieve a mage child for the Circle?"

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It was amazing to have a purpose again. Of course, he should have thought of it long ago; his ability to sense magic would allow them to warn parents that their children had the gift before it surfaced, saving countless mages from death and rebuilding the Circle. He was elated and grateful, thanking the Maker with every breath for the opportunity, for turning his gaze on him. And Bronwyn would accompany him with two Templars, which was even better. Well, it would have been best if it was just the two of them, but he would make due.

They moved through the country, trying to hit each village and town as they came to it. It would take months to cover the whole of Ferelden, and each time they found a mage child they would have to return to the tower.

At night their campsite was filled with the low, contralto voice of his mage singing. Some were folk songs, others seemed more formal. She confided that she had learned many of the songs from a traveling companion during the Blight, a bard from Orlais, who had a much better singing voice than she. Otto thought no voice could be prettier than hers.

He was listening to her sing one evening, thinking how pretty she must be in the firelight. Her voice died away, and they sat in silence for a few moments. "Is everything all right?" he asked finally, concerned.

He heard her moving before he felt her lips on his. They were warm and moist, a different kiss from the chaste ones before. She licked his lip and, as he moaned, slipped her tongue inside his mouth. She tasted like autumn in the woods, pumpkin pie, cinnamon spice. He wrapped his arms around her waist, surprised by how small it was, pulling her against him.

His senses came back to him and he pulled away, gasping. "The others-" he began to whisper.

"They're gone, gathering firewood or something," she said, sitting in his lap.

This was good news. His palms itched, hands eager to touch her. "If I may be so bold... May I see you?"

She laughed once. "How would you do that?"

"I can see with my hands," he said quietly. He felt her stiffen. "Of course, if you're uncomfortable..."

"No, of course." She took his hands and placed them on her cheeks. His rough fingers gently touched her chin, her cheeks, her nose. Her face was thinner than he thought it would be, her features a bit more angular, but then he supposed that fit her personality quite well. He traveled over her closed eyes, up to the softness of her hair and back down, putting together an image of her. His hands slid down over her hair to the curve of her ears.

He froze.

Where there should have been curve, there was a small but definite point. She was...

"...An elf, yes," she said bitterly. "Or a half-elf, anyway, but in this country any amount of elven blood will mark you as lower class, so what does it matter? I had hoped you wouldn't mind-"

"No, of course not." His voice was gentle, kind. "I wish you had told me, but it bothers me not a bit." He kissed her again to make his point, his fingertips caressing her ears gently then stroking her hair. "What color is your hair? Your eyes? Are you fair or tanned?"

"My hair is bright red. My eyes...I suppose they're amber. And I'm _very_ fair, if I may say so myself," she added saucily.

"You must be the most beautiful woman in all of Thedas," he murmured, nuzzling her neck. "Otto...will you come to my tent with me?"

His mind whirled. Was he ready? Would he embarrass himself? Did she realize he was a virgin, nearly five decades of age?

Reading him easily, she touched his face. "We can just hold each other. It doesn't have to be more than that right now."

He let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and nodded. She led him to her tent and they lay together in silence, simply kissing and stroking each other before drifting into a peaceful sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

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_Author's Note: Several things to mention here: First of all, LET ME KNOW IF YOU'D LIKE THIS STORY TO BE RATED M! I feel like I could easily do that, or keep it T. It's up to the readers. Please review or send a private message, either is fine. It was pointed out to me that in cannon, children of elves and humans are always human, so please understand that this is not cannon. Also, if it seems like there are a lot of references to Bronwyn being an elf now, it's because they are no longer in the Circle. I purposefully brought it out now because I figured humans outside the Circle wouldn't just ignore it like the mages and Templars typically do. Just so you know my reasoning... As always, please enjoy and REVIEW! :)_

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It had been a bit embarrassing the next morning when their two escorts saw them both exiting the same tent, but Otto ignored their murmurs. He knew, and the Maker knew, that nothing had transpired that was untoward.

Bronwyn, on the other hand, finally took notice of the two Templar's whispered comments, strode right up to them, and called them out.

"Excuse me, Sers?" she said hotly. "Perhaps you could speak your concerns directly to me?"

One of them, Ser Fenwick he thought, seemed shocked. "Pardon?"

"You gossip like two old hens regarding things you know nothing of!" Otto could hear the cruel sneer in her voice, and froze.

"See here, mage," said the other, Ser Tybalt. "Keep your place."

"My place?" she screamed. "MY PLACE?"

Otto quickly moved to intercept. "Ah, Sers, she is merely trying to address your concerns. As you know, I have been released from my vows," he said quietly, putting his arm around Bronwyn's shoulders. "My choices are my own. And surely, the Warden is still recovering from the harrows of the Blight..."

He could tell his words had an effect on the men, who may have forgotten who their companion was temporarily; one did not tell the the Warden who defeated the Blight to 'keep her place'. "Um...yes, Grey Warden. We apologize," said Ser Fenwick.

"Hmph!" said Bronwyn. She wrenched out of Otto's grasp and stalked away. He heard her stop some ways away from the camp.

"Sers, would you mind breaking camp for us?"

"Of course not."

He moved in the direction he had heard her go, hands in front of him. "Bronwyn?" he said quietly.

"I'm here." Her small hand took his. "Why did you stop me? They need to be taught some manners."

"Yes, they do. But you aren't going to be the one to teach. Time and wisdom will work their magic, and in the mean time, we will help them along."

"Fine." She removed her hand and turned from him, crossing her arms.

With a sigh, Otto put his hands on her shoulders and stroked her arms gently. "You know I speak the truth."

There was silence for a few moments, and she leaned back against him. "Yes."

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"My son...what?"

Otto was speaking as gently as he could to the farmer. This was the third settlement, just a few farm houses really, and the first time he'd sensed magic within a child. The farmer's wife seemed approachable, Bronwyn and Otto were speaking with her.

"I can sense the magic inside him, it's only a matter of time before it presents itself. This is a gift, but he must be trained in the Circle."

"Wha- Who are you people? You aren't taking my son anywhere!" she said, sounding angry.

"As I said, my name is Ser Otto, and this is Bronwyn, Grey Warden and Hero of Ferelden. She is working with the Mages Circle now." He added her titles, hoping this would help the country folk recognize that they were speaking the truth.

"You're the Grey Warden?" the woman whispered.

"Yes. Otto speaks the truth. He senses magic, and if he senses it from your boy, that means it will manifest." She was very serious, her voice sharp. "When it does, it could be deadly. If we start his training now, all that can be avoided."

The woman began crying. "Our only boy, a mage! His father will be...so disappointed."

Otto sensed Bronwyn's reaction and gripped her hand tightly, a reminder not to react negatively. "He will have many advantages in the tower. And when he is grown, you will be able to see each other again."

"I will...go get his father..."

He heard her walking away and Bronwyn turned to him. "She forgets that magic helped to defeat the Blight," she said.

"You carry much pain, but you must put it aside for the greater good right now. Let them see our deeds and that will change their hearts."

"Ser Otto, the eternal optimist." She pulled his head down for a quick kiss.

Suddenly, they heard loud, angry footsteps. "Watch out," she whispered. He guessed the boy's father was approaching.

"Please, Lethold, wait," they heard his wife calling.

He felt waves of anger rolling off the man when he finally reached them. "What slander is this? My boy has shown no signs of magic! I'll not see him off with a blind man and a knife-ear!"

Bronwyn sucked in a breath, but calmly began speaking. "Please, this man is Ser Otto, an ex-Templar. He can sense when a child has the gift. For your safety and your sons, you must let us take-"

There was a thud as the man's fist connected with Bronwyn's cheek, and a second as she fell to the ground, unprepared for the attack. "You'll not take my son, elf-whore."

Overcoming his shock, Otto stepped in front of Bronwyn, helping her to her feet. He felt silly, but he did stand in front of her protectively, knowing the man would be less likely to attack a human, especially if he was blind. "Please, there is no need for violence. You can see our Templar escorts investigating other houses behind us. We'll call them over to confirm our claims."

Silence for a moment. He felt Bronwyn summoning power to protect herself if needed, an invisible force field erected around her hastily. "Fine. Go get the Templars, knife-ear."

"_I_ will retrieve them," he said pointedly. The man's hate was too overwhelming for the moment.

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"You've been quiet this evening," Otto said quietly to Bronwyn. Bronwyn had rocked the boy and sung him to sleep, and now the boy was resting comfortably in his tent. The Templars had finally retired to their tent as well; it was common for two Templars to share a tent to cut back on the amount of supplies that needed to be lugged around. It had seemed like forever before he had a chance to speak to her in private.

"Yes." A short, sharp reply.

"You don't have to talk about it, but I thought you might need to."

She sighed. "I suppose...if we are to be together, you need to know."

His heart glowed inappropriately at her words. They were to be together. He sat next to her, once again imagining how gorgeous she must look before the fire. His vision was no longer colorless, but fill with reds and ambers and pale skin he wished he could see. He'd never questioned the Maker's decision to take his sight, but times like these he wished he could see her.

She leaned into him as he sat on a log next to her, and she spoke. "My mother lived in the alienage in Denerim. According to her, her husband was an amazing man, loving and talented in woodcraft." Her voice turned sour. "I wouldn't know of course. He was murdered by a human noble, and my mother was taken prisoner and raped over and over again for months. When she finally escaped, she found she was with child."

Otto didn't know what to say, so he stayed silent. She looked up at him. "It had been too long, you see, for her husband to be my father. She let me know every day that I was a reminder of her shame, that she had taken herbs and other substances to try to abort me, that I would never be elf or human. And still I loved her.

"It gets worse, Otto. Are you sure you want me continue?"

Keeping an arm around her, he gently cupped her cheek with one hand, wiping away a tear. "Tell me."

"I didn't exhibit magic until later in life; Irving always said I had made up for it by excelling and taking my Harrowing before those of my own age, even those who had been there longer. If I had at the age of six or seven, I might have been spared what came next. The same man visited the alienage again when I was twelve, and this time, he took me instead of my mother. She didn't even try to stop him."

She paused thoughtfully. "Now, I think it was her little revenge on him, that he would be forcing his own daughter." She laughed, a resentful, ugly sound. "I was more resourceful than she – I escaped after only a few weeks. When I came back to her, she seemed contrite, giving me the same herbs and potions she said she had taken to try to rid herself of me, once. For me, they worked." She stopped speaking and begain crying.

"Oh, my darling," he whispered, holding her tightly as she sobbed into his shoulder. "You are stronger than I ever knew. To endure such horrors, and still have so much good inside you! The Maker himself must have given you this grace."

"Aren't you disgusted?" she said, awed.

"Of course not. You're...so amazing. So lovely. I confess, I hoped you would turn your gaze on me even before your return from Denerim. And the past you've recounted... it only makes you more so in my eyes. Maker be praised for bringing you to me, my dearest one."

She kissed him again, hungry and desperate. He tried to match her, but had no experience. She pulled away, all breath and spice, and said, "I...don't want to rush you... Can we try...some things at least?"

He nodded and she led him to her tent again, with love in her eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

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_Author's Note: I received only a couple of opinions, but none that specified. I'm going with a soft M therefore, which is more fun to write. :) A short chapter. Enjoy._

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How could he have ever given this up? This ecstasy, this euphoria, this perfect expression of love was filling his heart to bursting. Otto shut his useless eyes as the thin, cool hand closed over his hardness, stroking up and down, and swore he saw her behind them, glowing with divine light. "Bronwyn..." he whispered, stroking her hair. "My Bronwyn."

"Shhh..."

He brought his hand to her face, her shoulder, her chest. Her bare breast met his palm, her nipple hard against his fingers. She moaned prettily for him as he teased her, helping guide his hands, and by some miracle he pleased her before he was spent.

When Otto came, he uttered words he thought he'd never say for his whole life. "I love you," he said, shuddering and spilling over her hand. And it was more than he'd ever dreamed.

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She hadn't returned the endearment, he thought, but he knew better than to push her. At least she knew the depth of his feelings; it was in the open now. No one mentioned the tent situation for the rest of the trip, and when they returned they appraised the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander of what had occurred.

The next trip saw a few more Templars with them, and when they approached the boys parents, it was the Templars who did so. Bronwyn and Otto shared more of themselves each day, but were not physical again for a time. Otto felt they were progressing naturally in their relationship and all was well, until the elf arrived.

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"Ah, my darling Grey Warden," came a sultry voice, "I was told I'd find you here."

Otto never would understand how he hadn't noticed the knave, yet here he was. He heard Bronwyn laugh with delight, and the sound of lips kissing a hand. His eyebrows knitted together.

"Zevran!" she exclaimed, clearly pleased. "I thought...you had left?"

"I wandered for a time, but found myself drawn to you once more, my sweet elven beauty."

Otto thought his head would explode at these words. "Excuse me," he said harshly. "The lady and I have business with the First Enchanter." He took her hand and began to pull her along.

"Wait!" she said, alarmed. "This is my friend, Otto. He helped me defeat the Blight." He heard her turn away, and his heart shattered. "Come, my friend. Whatever has brought you, I will speak with Irving and find you lodgings here."

They walked together into the Tower, leaving Otto confused an alone.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

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_Author's Note: I know the chapters have been short recently. I'm working up to a longer one. As always, I very much appreciate reviews and hope you enjoy._

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This wouldn't do, he thought. He hadn't seen for the rest of the day, and she'd sequestered herself in her room with that knave. He strode purposefully towards her rooms, intent on either chasing Zevran off so they could speak or catching her in the act. The thought caused a lump in his throat, and he quickly rethought his decision, pausing a few yards from the door. Better to know now, he thought finally, and began to walk forward.

The door opened when he was still several feet away, Bronwyn laughing.

"Come, my sweet, favor me with a kiss."

"You rascal," she said with a soft cry and more laughter. He must have embraced her, because her voice was muffled. "I've told you, no! You're being improper!"

"Just one, and if you still-"

"Excuse me!" Otto roared, his arms crossing. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, Otto," Bronwyn breathed. "This isn't what it looks like."

"I'll...I'll be going now," Zevran said, sounding contrite.

Otto waited until his footsteps faded, the strode forward. "What do you think you're playing at?", he said harshly, hating the tone of his voice. His heart was aching, his stomach tied in knots of anger and betrayal. "Inviting him into your room, staying there all day. And now this!"

"We weren't- nothing happened. It's his way," she said desperately, taking his hands in hers. "He flirts, but nothing comes of it."

He jerked his hands away from her. "What were you doing in there?"

"I told you, nothing!"

"Nothing seems to have taken up much of your day," he said. He turned and left, ignoring her pleas behind him.

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Otto rubbed his forehead as he walked, tracing a path through the corridors of the Tower with ease. Bronwyn was no longer seeking him out, and that infuriating assassin was to blame, he was sure of it. He'd traced the halls time and again, hoping to catch her out and about. It stung; he thought they'd been getting on, working towards something deeper, and now one leftover friendship was coming between them.

It was wrong, he knew. Zevran was with her when they defeated the archdemon. From her own tales, he had held her while she cried over the body of the king. Perhaps it was this that scared him, that she had such a great connection to the elf.

He was losing her. He felt it.

It was as he thought this that he came across the last person he wanted or expected to. "Ah, Ser, it is good to see you again."

He froze and turned, attempting a pleasant look but knowing it came off as nauseated at best. "Good morning," he said stiffly.

"Now, no hard feelings here," Zevran said, laughing. "She's yours through and through, Otto, though not for lack of my efforts to the contrary. Perhaps..." he began, his voice sly, "Perhaps we could come to ...some arrangement?"

His heart lifted, though he was confused by the question. "What...what do you mean?"

A light hand touched his arm. "You like elven maidens, do you not? Perhaps an elven male would also be to your liking...?"

"Pardon?" He flinched away, horrified. "You want...you want to...?"

"No, then," came Zevran's voice, sighing with disappointment. "You Fereldens, all tied up with being proper. Well, I'll not stay much longer, though I'll warn you I could pop back in at a moment's notice to whisk her away, so you'll need to be on your best behavior." He chuckled. "Just don't do anything I would do, and you'll be fine."

Zevran was gone within the hour, leaving Otto both relieved and anxious. How could he fix things with Bronwyn?


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

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_Author's note – This is the penultimate chapter. I'm sure I'm not the first to use this plot device, but I don't care. It's perfect for this story. Onward!_

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That evening, he knelt in his quarter for hours, praying to the Maker for guidance, clearing his head. He had no idea what to do. Even after Zevran was gone, Bronwyn still hadn't come to him. He knew he would have to make overtures to her, but he had no idea what to say.

Perhaps he had moved to fast. Perhaps he should tell her they needed more time. After all, it had only been six months since she'd lost Alistair to the Blight.

As he had this thought, he heard a voice. "Of course, blame it on the dead guy."

"Excuse me?" Otto said, confused. "This is a private room, and I am in prayer, my son."

"Yeah, I'm the answer."

This arrogance caused him to turn towards the intrusion, but he gasped and fell backwards. He could see. Not everything, not by a long shot, but he could see the man before him. Tall, lean, in Dragonbone plate armor and hefting a shield and sword, short hair styled a bit messily. He knew immediately from her description who this was. "Alistair. I can see you."

"Not really, you understand. It's sort of like an illusion, my image being directly linked directly into your – Uh, nevermind. I was never good with the smarts." He came forward and helped Otto to stand. "I guess Bronwyn has a thing for ex-Templars, huh? As long as she's not with the elf, I'm happy."

Otto shuddered as he remembered the stress of the last several days.

"But that's why you're here, isn't it? You didn't trust her?"

"I don't know." Otto sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I trusted her. I didn't, and don't, trust him. He suggested that I...that we..."

Alistair laughed uproariously. "Yeah, we got that, too. Don't feel too special."

"Why are you here?" Otto finally said.

"I'm here to answer you. The Maker wants you to know that you and Bronwyn should be together."

Otto stared at him in confusion. "And...you were sent? Why?"

"I volunteered. I..." He looked troubled for a moment. "I want her to be happy. I took the blow on purpose, so she could live a full life. Her life won't be full without someone to share it with, and I know it can't be me. You're good to her, good for her." Alistair looked him in the eyes. "I couldn't ask for someone better to take my place. Please, when you tell her about this, tell her what I've said and that I'll always love her."

"Yes. You were a good man, Alistair, and would have made a good king."

"One more thing." He turned to the side and a hazy image began taking shape. As it solidified, Otto gasped.

It had to be Bronwyn. She was resplendent, wearing a gorgeous white dress, jewels about her throat. Her hair was down to mid back and she wore a crown of flowers that rested just above her pointed ears. She was blushing.

"This is what she will look like on your wedding day. Take it to heart, my friend. Never forget what a treasure you have."

With that, the boy was gone.

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.

Despite the late hour, he left immediately to go to Bronwyn's room. He burst in the door, shouting her name. He heard the rustling of bedclothes in the other room, and her voice, raspy with sleep. "Otto? What's wrong. Is it-is something-"

Without letting her finish, he kissed her fervently, wanting to completely engulf her in his love. At first she tensed, but then she relaxed and returned the kiss, pulling him onto the bed.

Before things could go too far, he sat up and stroked her hair. "Bronwyn, my only love. I'm sorry, so sorry, for-"

"Shhh...you're forgiven," she whispered, a smile in her voice. When she spoke, he imagined her as the Maker had shown him, glowing and perfect with white flowers in her hair.

"I had a vision. I must tell you. It will be hard."

"A vision?" She sat up. "Of what?"

And he told her everything, everything Alistair had said, even that he still loved her. She was crying by the end, but they were tears of healing, not despair. "I swear it, on the Chant, he said we were meant to be."

"Yes," she said, and pulled him down on top of her again.

With no reservation, he followed her lead. She showed him how to touch her, touched him back. Finally she rolled him onto his back and lowered herself, and he was surrounded in heat, concentrating so hard not to spill himself instantly that she laughed for a moment. If it was possible, it was even more amazing than what they had tried in the tent, and when she fell next to him, he wept with relief and love.

He was quiet for a moment, then said, "Will you marry me, Bronwyn?"

"What?"

"It doesn't have to be tomorrow, or next week, or next month, but just say that sometime you will marry me, that you'll be mine forever."

She was silent for so long he thought he'd made a mistake, but then, when he'd almost lost hope, breathed, "Yes!"


End file.
